Part 77 (1/2)

Back in Riverside, everyone had been home for a couple of weeks. Max and John Jr. raved about their time at Camp Wilderlocke, and Judy and Marshall raved about their Mediterranean cruise. Still, with all their great stories to tell, it was my story of bringing down two serial killers that they couldn't get enough of.

”A doubleheader!” Max called it from underneath his Yankees cap. As for my being Ned Sinclair's ultimate target, he proceeded to offer up the ultimate solution. ”You should've just changed your name, Dad!”

That gave everyone around the dinner table that night a good laugh. It also gave me further proof that if family is the true currency of happiness, I was a very wealthy man.

Of course, having Warner Breslow's check in my bank account wasn't too shabby, either. Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars for services rendered.

And in my safe at home was the signed agreement for my bonus.

Breslow had asked me if Max and John Jr. were good students. ”Do they do their homework?” he inquired. They had always gotten good grades, but now they had even more incentive to study. Breslow would be paying for both their college educations.

”Ethan and Abigail loved kids,” he told me. ”For as long as I live, I'll be reminded of that when I think of your two boys.”

The tabloids would still write nasty things about Warner Breslow, and some of it might even be true. But I'd like to think I caught a glimpse of the man few other people had ever seen. What I saw was just a father who loved his son deeply.

”Here you go,” said Sarah, back on deck.

She handed me an ice-cold Turk's Head beer and we clicked cans, toasting our beautiful sunny afternoon in paradise.

Neither of us owned a crystal ball, and there were still things to learn about each other in the weeks, months, and, I hoped, years that lay ahead. But this much I knew for sure: there was no one else I'd rather be with on that boat. And I had a pretty good notion that Sarah felt the same way.

”So where should we head?” she asked.

I smiled. ”Good question.”

We both looked around. There was nothing but blue sky, blue water, and endless possibilities for the two of us.

Sarah stepped behind me at the helm, wrapping her arms around my waist. Then she whispered in my ear.

”Let's just see where the wind takes us, John O'Hara.”

DID DIANA HOTCHKISS JUMP OR WAS SHE PUSHED? WAS SHE DEPRESSED OR THE KEEPER OF ONE SECRET TOO MANY?

FOR AN EXCERPT, PLEASE TURN THE PAGE.

LET'S SEE WHAT she has in her medicine cabinet. I mean, as long as I'm here.

Careful, though. Before you turn on the light, close the bathroom door. The rest of her apartment is dark. Best to keep it that way.

What do we have here...lotions, creams, moisturizers, lip b.u.t.ter, ibuprofen. What about the meds? Amoxil for a sinus infection...lorazepam for anxiety...

Diana has anxiety? What the heck does she have to be anxious about? She's the most put-together woman I know.

And what's this-Cerazette for...birth control. She's on the pill? Diana is on the pill? She never told me that. She isn't having s.e.x with me. Not yet, anyway. So who is she having s.e.x with?